


Blanket Burrito

by MissingMyMind



Series: Gimme Sympathy (I Don't Want It) [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, PTSD, Tony is a dick, all the feels, and doesn't know how to how to talk about his feelings, blanket burritos are a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissingMyMind/pseuds/MissingMyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmares can get the best of anyone. This is how a certain ex-assassin copes with hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanket Burrito

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, I live. So this was not originally part of my story, but then I was talking with "Tony Stark" from my RP group (come find us on tumblr at avengersid-blackwidow.tumblr.com and avengersid-tonystark.tumblr.com) and I HAD to write the scenario out. Then I decided to incorporate it into this series. :)

Natasha Romanoff woke with the start, adrenaline pumping through her veins. On high alert she had her gun in hand before she was even fully awake. Slipping out of bed, she sighed, returned her gun to its place under her pillow and began pacing the apartment. There was no immediate threat, no reason for her to feel the crawling sensation under her skin. A nightmare then. Again.

Knowing she would not be getting any more sleep that night she angrily threw her hair into a messy ponytail and made her way down to the common room of the tower. "The Avengers Tower," as Stark had dubbed it upon completion of the rebuilding. She snorted in amusement, his ego was certainly big enough for the building.

On silent feet she entered the kitchen, and breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered it empty. After a nightmare she found the best thing she could do was to make a bowl of comfort food and veg out while watching mindless cartoons on the television. Cheerios in hand, Natasha curled up on the ridiculously oversized plush monstrosity Stark call a couch. The seat itself with large enough that you can almost completely recline and not touch the floor with your toes. Making herself comfortable she burrowed into her makeshift nest of blankets and listened to the drone of voices coming from the television. Not long after, she finally felt the tension begin to drain from her body. 

At least, until the elevator door slid open and Tony Stark stumbled out, cursing at his A.I.

"Piece of junk programming," he snarled, kicking at the closing door.

"Apologies, Sir, but according to the terms you agreed to, I am to remove you from the shop once you have remained awake for over 48 hours. I was informed to use force if necessary," came the robotic voice of JARVIS through unseen speakers.

"Why the hell did I ever agree to that?!" Stark exclaimed, running his hands through his hair and passing on the spot. He was clearly so wrapped up in himself that he had not noticed his audience. 

"Miss Lewis threatened to notify Miss Potts of your refusal to seek help for your nightmares," JARVIS replied.

"Ahhhh!" Tony cried, "Infuriating brat!" He threw himself down on the couch, only then spotting Natasha.

"Romanoff," he scoffed, rubbing at some grease smeared across his cheek, "been here long?"

"Stark," she greeted, "since before you made your dramatic entrance." His scowl deepened and he stole one of the many blankets from her nest.

"Don't you have your own room?" He questioned, "wait, I know you do. I designed it myself. Why are you out here at-" He trailed off and looked up at the ceiling expectantly. 

"4:08 AM," JARVIS supplied.

"4:08 in the morning?" He turned back to her. She held up her half eaten bowl of cereal and pointed at the tv with it. Tony crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow.

"You really expect me to believe that you deliberately wake up this early to eat cereal and watch Saturday morning cartoons?" She shrugged and returned her gaze to the television with more concentration than was probably necessary. 

"Oh, and now you're going to ignore me? Really mature, Romanoff. "

"Says the man who just had a temper tantrum in his own living room," she quipped, slurping the leftover milk in her bowl. 

"Temper tantrum? I do not throw temper tantrums!" He sneered. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Could have fooled me," she mumbled under her breath, as she watched him pout.

"So why are you out here then? Nightmares? Feeling twitchy? Are you a loose canon, Romanoff? Should I be worried you may snap and come after me in my sleep?" He continued to badger her with questions.

"Shut up, Tony,” she finally snapped, despite her best efforts to ignore him, "if you don't, we ARE going to have a problem, and I guarantee it will hurt like hell." Fed up with his attitude, she sat up. She threw the blankets off and set the empty bowl on the coffee table beside the couch with a loud thud.

"You want to play this game?" She continued, leaning into his personal space, causing him to retreat further back into the couch cushions. "Fine. First off, quit projecting your emotions on to me. You do not know how I feel, you do not have insight into my mind. If something is truly upsetting you, spit it out. It does neither of us any good when you lash out like this. As for your PTSD -do not argue with me on whether you have it," she put up a finger when he opened his mouth to protest, "locking yourself in your shop until you either pass out or blow yourself up is no way to deal with things. Find a less self destructive way to fucking cope. Watch mindless TV until you've calmed down, do something active, maybe even talk to somebody, and for God's sake take a shower some time this century. You look like you just crawled out of an engine. Now shut up, sit back, and enjoy the damn show." Tony just sat there in stunned silence at the end of her outburst, doing a fairly decent impression of a gaping fish. Natasha sighed, reached for the ends of the blanket around Tony's shoulders and wrapped it tightly around his body, tucking the ends in.

"Blanket burrito," she muttered, "no one is able to resist for long." Satisfied that he was not going anywhere, she returned to her blanket nest and got comfortable. 

"I dream about New York, about going through the portal. And dying," he confessed after a beat, burrowing down into the cushions as if that would prevent Natasha from hearing him speak. "I dream I'm back in that cave, hooked up to the battery, dying. Again." He fell silent. They sat for a while, the only noise coming from the television. 

"I dream of the people I have killed," Natasha finally said, "all the lives I have destroyed."

"We're all sorts of fucked up here, aren't we?" Tony asked rhetorically, with a humourless laugh. Natasha just hummed and they fell into companionable silence, and if Tony inched his way closer to the spy for comfort, well, who was to know?


End file.
